


Little Surprises

by sendal



Category: Dark Angel, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sandra writes fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:19:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sendal/pseuds/sendal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a town called Cold Oak, Sam meets the 10-year-old surprises that Azazel found in a secret lab -- Dean's genetic clones, X5-494 and X5-493. After saving Sam's life, the boys earn themselves a place in Dean and Sam's dysfunctional, monster-hunting lives -- but can they all form a family before Yellow Eyes comes calling again? Adult Dean whump, kid whump, Sam sighs, angst, pancakes, secrets, and implied off-screen non-con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes liberties big and small with Supernatural and Dark Angel. Small Dean clones should be supervised at all times. It all works out in the end.

The visions hit Dean's brain with all the subtlety of a tornado-whipped house, nearly dropping him to the ground. Clutching to the hood of the Impala, he sees not Dorothy's Kansas but instead a water tower, an inscribed bell, a quick flash of Sam. Hours later he's still got munchkins screeching in his head (damm that movie anyway) when he and Bobby find Sam in Cold Oak. In the dark rain a man in camouflage rushes toward his brother with a knife, what the hell? Before Dean can do anything more than shout Sam's name, two pale midgets in grimy clothing shoot the attacker and save Sam's life.

Sam doesn't seem very surprised by the homicidal munchkins. But then again, Sam's been living in this Oz ever since Dean lost him two days ago.

"I told you to stay inside," Sam tells the kids.

"Yeah, right," snorts one of them.

“Who are they?” Dean demands. Twins, sure, maybe only four feet tall, something strangely familiar about their eyes, the shape of their faces –

“Jesus,” Bobby says, annoyed or maybe horrified.

The mouthy kid says, “I'm Four. He's Three. Who the hell are you?”

Sam rubs his eyes and yawns, looking half ready to die with exhaustion. “This is Dean. And Bobby. Put your guns down.”

Four squints skeptically. “You're our progenitor?”

Three says nothing, gripping tight to the .45 sleek and silver in his small hand.

The rain slants down harder on all of them, the deserted town nothing but bleak wood and dirty windows under the slate sky. Dean has a headache. His chest feels tight. He has a bone deep intuition that these munchkins are not going to bring anything good into his and Sam's life. No Winchester has ever found anything but a monster at the end of the yellow brick road.

“I'm your what?” Dean asks.

"Guns down," Sam repeats. "Dean, these are your clones."

As if that helps the situation in any way.

On the ground the black guy in uniform stare sightlessly at Dean, his final expression frozen in surprise. This was not supposed to be how his day ended. Dean can empathize, but any son of a bitch who goes after his brother with a knife deserves what he gets.

“I vote we get out of here,” Bobby says, in a way that indicates there's not going to be any voting at all. “Sam can explain what the hell this is all about on the way.”

#

X5-494 had seen approximately seven hundred training videos in his short lifetime, and they were mostly dead ass boring: how to knife an opponent, how to assemble and disassemble incendiary devices, how to administer first aid on the battlefield. He was much more interested in the videos the Manticore guards watched on their phones or laptops in the middle of the night when they slacking off on their duties. The most popular films were about intercourse, with women grunting or squealing as men ejaculated into them. Four didn't see the appeal.

Of more interest were the movies about people sneaking into haunted houses, or chasing scary ghosts, or other weird supernatural crap that in Four's experience was unrealistic, but entertaining anyway. One guard, a greasy guy named Anderson, would let Four watch scary movies on his phone as long as Four sat right beside him and didn't mind the man's arm around his shoulder, sometimes around his waist, sometimes on Four's thigh, high above his knee. Four allowed it because (A) he got to watch the movies and (B) he learned the guard schedules, what switches operated what gates, and key codes that he would need to escape.

Tonight was the night those months of careful reconnaissance would pay off. Four and his twin brother X5-493 would get out of this prison to the outside world glimpsed only in movies or in the contraband magazines swiped from the guard lunchroom.

Two hours before The Great Escape, just as Four had gone through the plan in his head for the dozenth time, two guards showed up in his unit's barracks, gave him hard looks, and told him that Colonel Lydecker wanted to see him. Not an invitation. An order. An order at a very bad time, the worst time ever, and that told Four that his escape was probably not going to go as planned. Shit.

The walk to Lydecker's office went absurdly fast as Four tried to figure out where he'd gone wrong, how he'd screwed up, if he was going to survive this night. The office was dark except for a small lamp on the desk and the shine of security lights through the tall and narrow window. Lydecker was looking out at the grounds, his face hard in profile. Three was sitting in a large chair by the desk, his gaze trained on the floor. Tense, immobile, but not handcuffed or restrained. Not injured. Not tortured.

An odd smell pulled Four's attention from his twin to the corner of the desk, where a hot fudge sundae sat in a large silver bowl. Huge mounds of ice cream sat in a pool of chocolate syrup, cherry sauce and white sprinkles. It was so bright and sweet that Four could already taste a cold shiver on the back of his tongue.

“Leave us,” Lydecker ordered, curt and flat.

The guards left without question.

Four told himself not to panic. He knew his own body's physiological responses to stress so it was no surprise that his hands had gone numb. He reminded himself to breathe steadily. The body responded in one way, but the mind didn't have to panic as well.

Lydecker stared out the window. Three stared at the floor. Four considered some wisecracks, but he couldn't make himself speak. Outside, thunder and lightning announced the arrival of a nasty storm front. Four had been counting on the bad weather to help their escape. Now he suspected it would provide a cover for two unmarked graves in the forest.

“It's remarkable," Lydecker said. “The two of you. Two peas in a pod. It's going to be my joy and delight to spring you on Dean Winchester.”

The voice was familiar, but the accent was wrong–the inflection off in a way that set Four's hair and teeth on edge. He squared his shoulders and forced himself to ask, “Who's Dean Winchester?”

“That's a very interesting question. I guess we could say he's your daddy.”

“I don't have a father. I was grown in a vat.” Four glanced at Three, but received no support. “That's what you always say.”

In profile, Lydecker smiled. It was cold, slight curve of disdain. “Oh, everyone's got a daddy. And daddy issues, too. Such a fascinating thing, the father-son dynamic. It's going to be my pleasure to introduce you to your family. And to mine.”

That strange smell tagged at Four's attention again. Something burnt, something rotten. Never before had Four longed for bleach and disinfectant, or for a nice long run in the piney forest. His stomach twisted and some ancient part of his brain urged him to run away, with or without Three, just get the hell out of here and put as much distance possible between him and Lydecker, or this thing pretending to be Lydecker.

But Four had never been very good at running away, at least not from fear, so instead he took a step forward, cocked his head, and asked, “Who are you?”

The colonel turned turned. His eyes shone with an unnatural yellow gleam that sent goose bumps rippling over every part of Four's body. He looked at the ice cream sundae and saw that the cherry syrup was really blood, and the white sprinkles were maggots slowly wriggling through the gore.

In the armchair, Three began to shiver.

“Let me tell you who I am,” said the man with the Yellow Eyes.

end of part 1


End file.
